Internal Hemorrhage
by fakescorpion
Summary: Post AC:R. After Desmond woke up from his coma, he went through reliving Ezio's memory of reliving Altaïr's memory again so the Assassin team could record the Revelation. Things took a turn for the worst when his Bleeding became more severe.


_disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters._

_After Desmond woke up from his coma, he went through reliving Ezio's memory of reliving Altaïr's memory again so the Assassin team could record the Revelation. Things took a turn for the worst when __the Bleeding Effect_ became more severe.

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* * *

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**Internal Hemorrhage**

"You're the only person who has seen the Revelation, son." William was frowning, always frowning. "We have to get whatever it is on record, you know that."

"How about this: what part of I'm tired, I just woke up from a fucking coma do you not understand?" Desmond bit back. "_Father_."

"Watch you tone." The voice harsh, solemn, with a hint of condescending.

Desmond narrowed his eyes dangerously, for the barest of seconds he was burning and _freezing_ with hot rage and_ cold anger _just under his skin. He didn't deserve to be treated like this, by anyone, not even his father_ the Mentor of the Brotherhood_. Then the instant passed and he clenched his jaw and unclenched _his fists_, lowering his head, knuckles white and cracking.

"Get in the Animus, Desmond."

He gave his father another glare, refusing to comply.

The air was full of tension, like pin drop would be loud enough to cause some sort of catastrophe. Shaun looked like he wanted say something but was feeling too uneasy to form words and Rebecca twitched on her seat beside the machine. "It..." She forced out, squeaked when Desmond leveled his cold gaze.

"What."

"It," Rebecca tried again. "It won't take a lot of time." She quickly explained, wanting to get it all out before the eruption of another argument. "Since you have already fully synched the sequences, we could jump straight to the target memories..."

A pregnant pause as Desmond shifted his gaze from one person to the next.

"Stop acting like a child." William was full of his usual disappointment.

Desmond felt his hackles rise at the tone-_taunt,_ _he could almost taste blood_; he forced himself to_ calm down_.

"Fine."

"Don't worry, Desmond." Rebecca reassured as she help him back into the machine that had very nearly swallowed his soul. "It'll be done real quick."

Of course everything would go wrong.

.

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Desmond breezed through the first and second Masyaf Key memories easily, it was reliving a past that he knew-_have always known_. He remembered them clearly-_but not enough_, a weird _satisfaction_ at himself when he should feel detached.  
He _remembered_ _them._

_And then the Apple was in his hands_-was the Apple really in his hands?

_So entrancing_-so frustrating.

_Was it the answer?_ It was questions.

It was just a piece memory. Yes, it was _a piece of his memory_.

He _remembered_ _these._

But.

He _did not_ know.

The.

Rest.

.

A blinding headache.

Desmond had been forcefully pulled out of the Animus. There were worried voices muffled in the background, _whispers of __phantoms _in the echoing cavern; soothing hands on his back, _ghostly images off the corners_. He was breathing a bit too heavily, almost hyperventilating. His heart was beating too fast, the hammering in his chest a constant pain. There was an uncontrollable shake.

He did not know why.

"Desmond, Desmond." It was Rebecca. "Look at me. Are you okay?"

"I..." Breath. In, out. In, out. "I'm fine."

"What happened back there?"

He didn't know. _He_ _knew_, but _he_ _shouldn't_. Not ever.

Desmond shook his head. "I made a foolish mistake. Desynched." He was tired.

"You should learn by now that sometimes, a stupid mistake could be fatal." William was standing a little farther back, rubbing the side of his brow with a disapproving frown. "They should always be avoided."

"_I know_." It came out as a harsh growl, but Desmond didn't care. He was very bitter and his mouth felt dry. "Rebecca, put me back in. I want to get this over with."

Now even Shaun was concerned. "Are you sure?"

"_Put me back in._"

.

He fainted.

When Desmond woke, he found tear traces down his face.

_He_ _should not have known these._

_It was too personal and too painful, and he was still too young and too full of hope._

Desmond was suffering from a pounding headache and _his_ _tears_ kept falling, he still did not know why but _he knew why_. Every thought had an echo. He wanted to know, the whisper at the back of his head:_ He did not want to know, he should not have known, but now he did._

He looked at his _friends_ who were alive. _They were dead._ And he felt _his_ _heart_ break a little more.

_He was not nearly mature enough to handle these, and he wondered would he ever be._

"Desmond?"

"I am FINE." It was louder than necessary, and it fooled no one.

"You were crying."

"It wasn't me."

Three pairs of eyes looked at him. Unsure.

"It wasn't me." Desmond emphasized. It wasn't him, it was _him_. "Rebecca, please put me under again." He wanted to know why, but the _agony_ in _his_ _heart_ made him feel like he had been stabbed.

"If you're suffering from Bleeding..."

"We don't have the time." Desmond snapped sharply, throwing his father a nasty look. "So what if I Bleed a little? Who the hell cares, right? I want to get this stupid job done, now."

.

.

Eventually, he knew _he_ _was Altaïr._

But he was Desmond, and he still did not know why.

_Altaïr _was the one to wake up from the Animus this time, and _his tears _kept falling and falling and_ he_ could not help it. His friends and his father didn't dare to approach_ him, the _once_ graceful and proud eagle_. And_ he hated himself for being so weak._

Everyone has a breaking point.

This.

It was like dying.

.

"Desmond...?"

"_Leave me alone._" The voice was hoarse, because _Altaïr _had been _suffocating_. "Just need a moment and I'll be okay." Desmond continued, assuring his friends. In the back of his mind, he wondered why _he_ felt so weak that he had trouble standing. "I promise I will be okay." But _he_ would not, _never again_.

"We're both right here, don't strain yourself." Rebecca lightly squeezed his shoulder, half-smiled.  
"Or do you want us to hold your hands? To keep your nightmares away?" As usual Shaun was sarcastic, but this time lacked most of its biting edge.

Rebecca. Shaun. He slowly nodded at his friends, grateful for their company.

Rauf. Malik. _He_ thought, becoming a little more broken.

.

He could not synch those sequences again, no matter how hard he tried. It was always the same repeating dance: The memories would trigger a severe case of Bleeding-_like internal bleeding_; Desmond would become _Altaïr_; and everything would be so very still-_everything would start falling apart_. Over and _over_ again.

He would be even more confused. And _he_ would _break_ a little bit more.

"Get a hold of yourself."

"But I..." Desmond looked at his father, face uncharacteristically blank. "_I did not even get the chance to know him_." Voice cracked, a choke, a _sob_.

"Know who?"

"My _son_."

William's scowl deepened. "Desmond, you don't have a son."

He blinked. And _his_ _heart_ ached.

He didn't have any sons, but he did have a father that he sometimes didn't wish to know.  
_He_ apparently would _have_ two_ sons_, one of which _he_ would _never_ get to _know_.

He was_ him_.

And he-_he_ felt a little more _broken_.

.

Sometimes, when _his_ _heart_ was in unbearable pain, Desmond thought of Lucy.

Beautiful Lucy, who would betray him.  
Lovely Maria, who had promised that they would always be together.

Lucy dying by his hands. Maria dying in _his arms_.

And they would bo_th_ _break a little more_.

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Desmond stopped trying to force himself back into the Animus. The Revelation, the final images of Those People would be lost forever in his genetic memories.  
And he could do nothing about it. The lock had been opened once, but he could not do so again. The effect of the Bleeding was getting out of control, rendering him unable to synch with those particular memories.

It just could not be done.

Bleeding into _Altaïr _was making Desmond unable to synch with Altaïr.

"You've got to be joking." Shaun didn't believe him, William doubly so, and Rebecca only went back to inspect her Baby looking for the nonexistent signs of damage.

"I can't." Desmond said. "_I cannot._" An echo. "Synch with _those sequences_."

"Do you even hear the thing you're suggesting?" His father sighed deeply like he was talking to an immature little kid, and Desmond hated that. "You would have to come up with a more convincing lie."

"I _am_ not _lying_." Desmond-_Altaïr _growled.

"Desmond." William warned, eyes narrowing. "This is bigger than you and your childish tantrum. Get in the Animus, now, and finish the remaining memories."

"_Those_." _Altaïr_ hissed, abruptly standing up, movement more graceful than Desmond could ever accomplish, and sent monitors crashing to the ground and paper charts flying with a single fierce sweep of his hands. "Those. _Are_. NOT._Memories_."

Rebecca yelped, shocked by the sudden act of violence. Shaun stood back, a bit wary. William, he said nothing, but looked equally wary... but also weary.

"Desmond!"

He didn't know who called. Desmond just turned and ran, deep into the spacious hi-tech cavern and found a place of solitude.

He understood now, he understood now why _he_ felt so much _pain_ and _agony_.

I'm sorry, Altaïr. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

.

Desmond had thought Altaïr was a part of him.  
It was a truth. But it was not the truth.

Desmond was Altaïr... up until that night atop the highest tower of Acre Citadel, and not a minute more.

Desmond was Altaïr, who was still young and full of hope.

He had friends just this morning, willing to help support the flourishing Brotherhood.  
_They were dead, murdered. His beloved Order in pieces.  
Rauf, body hastily abandoned, washing up somewhere on an unknown riverbank.  
Malik, head severed, in the burlap sack carelessly thrown at his feet._

Darim was just a toddler that noon, who would get a younger brother within the year.  
_Darim, now without a brother. Sef, the son he would never get to know._

Maria... beautiful, lovely Maria. Still alive and well the last night of his memory.  
Maria... beautiful, lovely Maria. _Dying_.

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.

Altaïr was a part of Desmond

And he had been _breaking_ that part of _himself_. Little by little.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

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It was too late.

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* * *

_Theoretically, Desmond would only Bleed his ancestors up to the time the next in line was conceived. A forgivable mistake many fan writers make when writing stories about the Bleeding Effect._

_Everyone has a breaking point. Even Altaïr.  
And if those tragedies that happened over the course of a few days could put the more weathered Altaïr (63) into depression for almost 20 years, what would happen if Altaïr (31) was forced to go through them within minutes?_


End file.
